Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 02 (12 page)

After toweling off with a linen cloth, Albin quickly dressed as Talan saddled his horse. Stowing his soiled garments, he took the reins to vault into the saddle in one fluid motion.

“Let us do this,” he called to Talan spurring his horse towards the village.

* * *

After she gained control of herself, Lecie retrieved her father’s best tunic and breeches from the wardrobe. Laying them out on the bed beside his body, she began to straighten up the chamber.

Absently picking up her father’s pillow from the floor, she tossed it on a chair as she sank down on the edge of the bed. “Rest you well, Da.”

Tears tracked down her cheeks as she mourned the man that had been her world since her mother had passed. His face relaxed in death, she once again held his limp hand to her cheek.

Faced with the ordeal of having him prepared for burial, she refused to ask Hamon for his assistance in dressing her father. After briefly checking on the children, she went in search of Joseph.  

Sending the boy to fetch the sheriff and his sons, she looked up at the sound of approaching horses. Her heart began to pound as Sir Albin locked gazes with her in the distance even as he spurred his horse to a faster gait.

Torn between running to him for comfort and ordering him from her sight, she stood motionless as he dismounted beside her.

“Lecie,” he began, “I am so sorry, lass.”

His tender words broke through her reserve as tears slipped down her cheeks. Her shoulders shaking as she struggled to contain her sobs, she found herself encircled by his gentle embrace.

Giving in to her grief, Lecie wrapped her arms around his waist to sob from her heart as Talan left them to lead the horses to the stable.

“Well, well,” Hamon’s voice had Lecie scrambling backward as Albin’s hand shot out to steady her. “What do we have here?”

Albin’s eyes narrowed dangerously on the man as he spoke aside to Lecie. “Where are the children?”

“Above with Harsent,” she managed in a whisper.

Lightly clasping her arm, he led Lecie down the cobbled walk leading to the door.

As Talan closed the distance behind them, Albin knocked Hamon roughly aside when he moved to block their path. “I shall finish with you later.”

Off balance, Hamon pin-wheeled his arms as he fell backwards into the vegetable patch. Watching from the doorway, Gunilda rushed to his side as the trio entered the inn.

“You have done enough, lass.” Albin released his grip on Lecie the moment they entered the common room. “Talan and I will see to your father.”

The reminder of his mistaken assumption about her relationship status had Lecie bristling. “Your assistance is not required, Sir Albin. I have already sent Joseph for Mylla’s brothers to lend me assist.”

“Lecie, please…”

Without responding, Lecie turned her back on him to ascend the steps.

Tracking her progress with his eyes, Albin shook his head with a mumbled curse.

“Pour yourself a cup of ale and stay here, should Hamon return to stir up trouble.” Talan briefly gripped his shoulder. “I shall lend assist to Lecie.”

“You heard her,” Albin replied. “She does not require our assistance.”

“She said nothing about me.” Talan’s gaze slid to the steps. “I cannot in good conscience leave her alone at a time like this.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Half-resenting Talan’s offer to comfort Lecie, anger suffused Albin’s face. “I was not the only one banished from the inn.”

“And yet, here we are,” Talan quipped, unperturbed by Albin’s show of temper.

“Yes, here you both are.” the sheriff spoke sternly from the kitchen doorway. “I could have you both arrested for trespass.”

“Yet he will not.” Leofrick squeezed by his father to clasp Talan’s hand. “Again we meet this day. Were it only under happier circumstances.”

“I agree,” Talan replied solemnly. “Although expected, it is sad to see the end of such a good man.”

“Lecie is above tending to him?” Edmund inquired from beside his father.

“Aye, she is,” Albin replied. “She refused our assistance to prepare Edric for burial.”

“And well she should,” Sheriff Richard spoke up. “She did, after all, banish the pair of you for a reason.”

“Which is naught but a falsehood,” Albin retorted. “You know as well as we that Hamon is behind Lecie’s actions.”

“Now is not the time to be discussing this,” Talan spoke low. “Lecie is grieving a great loss.”

“You are right.” Albin instantly backed down. “She is my only concern at the moment.”

“Has the priest been sent for to shrive the body?” Leofrick interjected to change the subject. “I did not see his horse in the stable.”

“Not that I know of,” Albin responded. “I shall fetch him myself.”

His mind on more important things, Albin did not see Hamon watching him from the stand of trees beside the inn as he rode off towards the church. Adjusting his clothing, he left Gunilda lying in a tangle of skirts without so much as an offer to assist her up. 

* * *

By the time Albin returned with the village priest, Edric’s body had been prepared for burial. Washed, dressed in his finest garb and sewn into a linen burial shroud, he lay on a planked table in the common room for the final farewell.

The small solemn group waited for the priest to administer the final rites so they could make the sad journey to the churchyard.             

His heart aching for Lecie and the children, Albin’s eyes locked on Hamon where he stood close behind them.

Their eyes red from crying, the twins clung to each other for comfort as Clayton stood bravely beside them with quivering chin. On the occasions his eyes would fall upon the shrouded figure of his father, Lecie’s hand would reach for his to give him a reassuring squeeze. 

“Shall we begin?” the priest intoned. Portly and balding, the elder priest looked down his hooked nose at Lecie. “It grows late and if the body is to be buried with the light, we have no time to tarry.”

“By all means please begin, Father Bartholomeo,” Lecie replied, barely above a whisper.

Displeased by the family’s lack of regular church attendance, the sermon was short and to the point.

After the priest concluded with a prayer for the soul of her father, Lecie dried her tears. With a small smile of encouragement directed at the children, she stood in preparation for the short walk to the cemetery. 

“If you please, Father Bartholomeo,” Hamon spoke up. “I would have you perform a wedding ceremony before we depart for the church.”

The room erupted in various reactions to the unexpected request. Talan and Leofrick leapt from their chairs as Albin lunged forward to attack Hamon.

“Take it easy,” Talan said, losing his grip as Albin jerked free. “You need to keep your head about you.”

Yanking down the hem of his crumpled tunic, Albin dipped his head without taking his eyes from Hamon.  

The children stood huddled together, motionless, looking at Lecie for an explanation. Her eyes were frozen on Hamon’s hands, resting alongside Clayton’s neck.

Gunilda began to sob brokenly as Betta and Harsent consoled her, under the assumption she grieved for Edric.

Edmund and Sheriff Richard stood quietly off to the side, waiting for the priest to respond to Hamon’s untimely request.

“This is a time of mourning,” Father Bartholomeo intoned. “Another time would be more appropriate, do not you think?”

“Begging your pardon, father. Edric would understand the need for my haste.” Hamon dug in a pouch on his belt to remove several silver deniers. “Please accept my humble tithing for your trouble.”

“Very well.” Father Bartholomeo’s cold gaze darted to the trio of tavern wenches at the back of the room. “Which of the
women
present have you decided to wed?”

“It is Lecie I wish to wed.” Hamon’s eyes held a threat as her shocked gaze slowly slid up his sinewy arms to his smug face. “It is what her father wanted.”

“The hell you say,” Albin roared, fisting his hands. “I swore to Edric that I would look after her.”

Lecie’s gasp was audible as the common room fell silent at his words. Searching Albin’s face, hope struggled to overcome the fear of Hamon that held her in its grip.

“It appears,” Father Bartholomeo droned in a bored voice as he looked around at the stunned group. “That we have a conundrum.”

“Like hell we…” Albin’s words faded upon seeing the look Father Bartholomeo leveled on him. “Forgive my turn of phrase, Father. What I meant to say, is there is no way in he—” he stopped abruptly, glancing at Talan in silent appeal.

All eyes focused on Talan as he stepped forward to address the priest. “Father Bartholomeo.” Talan dipped his head. “I am Sir Talan. Sir Albin and I are in the service of Baron Erlegh.”

“So I gathered by your arms,” Father Bartholomeo intoned. “Baron Erlegh is well known to me as a benefactor of the church. What have you to say on this matter?”

“What Sir Albin was trying to convey.” Talan shot an exasperated look at his frustrated friend. “Is that shortly before Edric’s death, he gave his word as a knight of the realm to take care of the family, Lecie in particular, as her husband.”

“Only if she would accept me,” Albin interrupted, his gaze resting on Lecie.

“And what of the tapster’s claim that Edric conveyed the same wishes to him?” Father Bartholomeo raised a single white eyebrow. “I cannot in good conscience disregard his claim merely because a knight outranks his common status. The woman herself is naught but a commoner.”

“If the tapster’s claim gives you pause.” Talan pointedly stared at Hamon’s hands until the latter removed them from around Clayton’s neck. “I would have you judge the character of both men.”  

“Being the last wishes of the deceased, it is not my decision to make. There is no doubt I would prefer to see the children placed with a pious and honorable knight of the realm over a lowborn commoner,” Father Bartholomeo began. “However, I must be assured it is what Edric would have wanted.”

“In that case, since Edric is unable to clarify his wishes, I would like to offer an alternative to the quandary we find ourselves in.”

“Which is?”

“Allow Lecie to decide who she would have for a husband,” Hamon interjected before Talan could reply. “She above all else here would know what her father would want for her.”

“You bastard,” Albin hissed. “What choice has she under your threats?”

“That appears to be a reasonable solution.” Steepling his fingers, Father Bartholomeo bent a disapproving look on Albin. “I see no other alternative. What say you on letting the woman decide? Would you abide by her choice?”

“Aye, I shall swear by her decision.” Albin stared into Lecie’s frightened eyes for a moment. “Let Lecie decide who will share her bed from this day forward.”

“Sir Albin, your coarseness is better suited for the battlefield.” Father Bartholomeo huffed. “I would remind you that I am a man of God.”

“My apologies to you and all present,” Albin mumbled. “I have had little time of late to attend mass.”

“There is always time for God.”

“Aye, Father.” Flushing red, Albin studied the crossbeams above his head.

“Well, Lecie?” Father Bartholomeo turned his pale blue eyes upon her. “What have you to say? Which man would your father have you choose as husband?”

The color drained from Lecie’s face as all eyes turned upon her. Despite her anger towards him, all she had ever wished for would come true if she were to accept Albin’s hand. If only she could be absolutely sure that Hamon would not follow through on his threats against the children. Even if she were to confide in Albin after the marriage, she could not guarantee he would always be there to protect them. As it was, he would be returning to Castell Maen soon to report to Baron Erlegh. What would happen then? The Wounded Stag had been in her family for generations, it was Clayton’s by the laws of inheritance. She had no right to take it from him, as she most assuredly would be doing if Sir Albin wished to relocate the family to Castell Maen. In the end, she knew she had no choice.

Tears slipped from her eyes as she found her voice. “I wish to marry Hamon, Father.”

“And you believe it is what your father would have wanted?”

“Yes.” Averting her eyes, Lecie nodded. “At all cost, he would want me to do what is best for the children.”

Albin was unusually silent as Talan uncharacteristically spoke up. “It is fear alone that has her speak so.”

“How so?” Father Bartholomeo asked suspiciously.

“Hamon has threatened her in some way,” Talan responded. “Our guess is it pertains to the children’s safety.”

“Your guess?” Father Bartholomeo turned to the sheriff. “Have you heard aught of this, Sheriff?”

“I have my suspicions, Father,” Sheriff Richard responded. “I do not believe Edric would have chosen Hamon over Sir Albin.”

“Did Lecie approach you to say she had been threatened by the tapster?”

“No, she did not.”

“Did Edric tell you of his preference for a husband for his daughter?”

“No, he did not.”

“They besmirch my good name for their own gain,” Hamon interrupted. “Lecie herself banished the knights from the inn only days past. They should be arrested for trespass just by being here.” His face beet red, he pointed at the sheriff. “You know what I speak is true, tell him.”  

“The tapster speaks the truth.” With a look of distaste at Hamon, the sheriff once again addressed Father Bartholomeo. “Lecie threatened to have the knights charged with trespass should they return.”

“I see. Such an unusual occurrence is this. Still, we shall persevere and get to the bottom of the matter.” Father Bartholomeo faced Lecie. “Has Hamon in some way coerced you into this marriage?”

Left with no other choice, Lecie opened her mouth to lie as Albin spoke from beside her. “Regardless of the man’s threats, there is another impediment to the marriage I would have you consider, Father.”

“Another impediment you say?” Father Bartholomeo’s look was incredulous. “What impediment do you speak of?”

Albin turned to Lecie. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Lecie?” His eyes spoke volumes. “Or must I speak my piece?”

Lecie’s lower lip trembled as her eyes filled with tears, yet she managed to remain silent.

“Very well,” he whispered for her ears alone. “One day I pray you will forgive me for what I now do.”

Lecie clutched his arm to stop him. “Please, do not do this.”

Briefly cupping her cheek, his eyes begged for her understanding. “You have given me no choice.” Facing the priest he continued, “The impediment I speak of is that at this very moment, Lecie may be carrying my child.”

“How could you?” she whispered brokenly from beside him.

Unable to bear her stricken expression, Albin kept his gaze focused on the stunned priest.

“Perhaps we should send the children from the room?” Leofrick was the first to break the tense silence.

Talan glanced at Lecie for permission. Realizing she had not even heard the suggestion, he gestured for Betta to come forward to take charge of the children.

Wide-eyed, Betta hastened the children up the steps and out of sight.

“I knew it,” Gunilda sniped from the back of the room. “Always playing at being the grand lady of the inn, when it turns out she is no better than the rest of us.”

“Get out,” Albin came close to shouting as he leveled a cold gaze on Gunilda. “You are not fit to be in the same room as her.”

Gunilda stood stiffly to toss her lank braid over her shoulder. With a last longing look at Hamon, she slipped into the kitchen.  

Father Bartholomeo pulled out a chair beside Edric’s body and took a seat. “I could use an ale, tapster.”

“You do not believe him, do you?” Hamon snarled. “He would say anything to inherit the inn.”

“The inn is not his to inherit,” Father Bartholomeo corrected. “And I suggest you not take that tone with me.”

“Forgive me, Father.” Hamon backed down. “I am merely trying to follow through with my dear departed employer’s final wishes.” Scrambling behind the bar, he returned with a cup of ale for the priest.

“Is what Sir Albin says true, Lecie?” Taking a sip of ale, the priest set the cup on the table. “Have you committed a mortal sin by sharing your pallet with this man without the benefit of wedlock between you?”

Desperate and about to lose what he coveted most, Hamon interjected, “The child could be mine just as well.”

“You lying bastard,” Albin snarled leaping sideways to wrap his hands around Hamon’s scrawny neck. “Lecie was a maiden when I took her.”

Lecie’s look of shock was not lost on the priest as Leofrick, Edmund and Talan struggled to separate the two men.

Edmund managed to pry Albin’s fingers from Hamon’s neck as Talan and Leofrick forcefully dragged him away.

“Ease up, Albin,” Talan hissed in his ear. “You are not helping your chances.”

His face an unhealthy shade of red , Hamon inhaled deeply as he kept a wary eye on his adversary. Gingerly touching his neck, he sought protection by moving to stand beside the sheriff.  “Are not you going to do something?”

“We are doing something,” Sheriff Richard bent a disgusted look on Hamon. “We are trying to discern the truth from bold-faced lies.”

Swallowing painfully, Hamon averted his eyes. “It is he that lies.”

Finished with his ale, the priest waited patiently until he had everyone’s attention. “Now then,” he called. “If we have concluded with the theatrics, we shall finish with this sordid business.”

Albin crossed his arms before his chest the moment Talan and Leofrick released him. His narrowed gaze on Hamon, he waited for the priest’s next words.

Father Bartholomeo pinned Lecie with his gaze. “I would normally hear your confession in private, however, the circumstances being what they are…” he trailed off.

“I understand, Father,” Lecie’s voice shook as she responded. “Ask of me what you would.”

“Would you tell the truth?” Albin blurted unable to stop himself. “If you do, I swear by the Almighty that he shall not harm what you hold dear.”

Meeting his steady gaze, Lecie forced herself to feel nothing. “On top of everything else you have faultily laid at my feet, do you now accuse me of being a liar as well, Sir Albin?”

“If in so doing you are under the assumption it would protect someone you love, aye,” he responded softly. “I do so accuse you.”

“My father was wrong about you. You are not an honorable man.” Her lip trembling, she returned her attention to Father Bartholomeo. “I understand that a woman’s word is nothing compared to that of a man’s, yet you have mine that I shall answer truthfully.”

“Have you dishonored yourself with Sir Albin, as he claims?” Father Bartholomeo asked abruptly.

“Yes I have,” Lecie responded, boldly meeting Albin’s gaze. “How I wish it were not so.”

“And Hamon?” the priest pressed. “Have you also shared your pallet with him?”

“No,” Lecie spat. “I have not, nor would I ever willingly do so.”

“In that case, I suggest you take a private moment to prepare yourself for your wedding to Sir Albin.” Father Bartholomeo slightly softened his words. “Regardless of what you now think, he has proven himself to be an honorable man in upholding your father’s wishes. Given the situation, you could do much worse.”

“I do not see it as such,” Lecie numbly replied. “Yet what choice do I have?”

Ignoring everyone but Hamon, she made her way to his side. “Get your things and be gone by the time I return.” Regardless of the sheriff standing only feet from her, she added, “And know you this, if any harm comes to the children, there is nowhere on this isle you can hide that I will not find and slay you.”

“You impertinent wench,” Hamon hissed as he lifted a hand to strike her. “I warned you about crossing me.”

Suddenly finding his hand held in a viselike grip, Hamon shrieked in pain as the bones in his fingers threatened to break.

“You heard her,” Albin sneered, twisting Hamon’s arm. “Be gone with you.”

Surrounded by towering men, Hamon nervously glanced around for an ally. Met with animosity at every turn, he turned a spiteful look upon Albin. “Release me and I shall.”

Albin shoved him away, blocking Lecie from Hamon’s view. Folding his arms over his chest he quirked a brow, waiting for compliance.

“I offer my congratulations to you, Sir Albin.” Hamon performed a mock bow. “Your fondest wish has been granted this day.”

His eyes darting to Lecie, Albin smiled. “You are right, it has.”

“Your gluttony for ale has led you to covet Lecie’s hand, whereas I only coveted her heart.” 

“Get. Out,” Albin snarled.

“Until we meet again.” Hamon dipped his head with a mocking smile.              

“I look forward to that day.”

“Do not think it has escaped my notice that you lied to a man of God,” Father Bartholomeo called to Hamon as he was about to enter his small chamber beneath the steps. “I shall expect to see you in the confessional come Sunday.”

Without responding, Hamon slammed his chamber door.

“Excuse me while I prepare myself,” Lecie murmured to no one in particular. “It shall not take me long.”

Avoiding Albin’s remorseful gaze, she brushed past him to race up the steps.

She angrily brushed at the tears slipping from her eyes, refusing to think about what was to come. Hamon’s words replayed themselves in her head as she entered the children’s room to dismiss Betta. While she refused to believe Albin was marrying her for the inn, she knew he would honor his vow to her father.